


The days that burn the most

by Aja



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-30
Updated: 2009-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 08:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aja/pseuds/Aja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>short Gwen/Morgana, in response to fanart by Myrafur and Glockgal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The days that burn the most

**Author's Note:**

> The other day Myrafur drew Guinevere as part of her daily drabbles, and then I insisted that all her fantastic portrait was missing was Morgana, and then Glockgal [filled in the gaps](http://myrafur.livejournal.com/259214.html?thread=7296142#t7296142), and by that point I was in such rapture that I had to add a ficlet, because, well, obviously. And, well, here it is. Hurrah for femslash!

Gwen likes it when Morgana surprises her. 

Sometimes she'll lie beneath Gwen for hours, silent and breathless, while Gwen holds her still, tracing her skin in long slow touches that last all day. Sometimes it's glorious the way Morgana will relax into her, let Gwen fold her arms around her and kiss her throat until she gasps.

Sometimes she'll only give Gwen a taste: a brush of lips over Gwen's collar bone when Gwen is busy sorting the linens, her fingernails digging crescents into Gwen's shoulder. Sometimes Gwen almost likes it better that way, when the anticipation tingles beneath her skin. 

Sometimes, it's the days she doesn't give anything at all that burn the most: the days Morgana snaps, the days she spends turned toward Uther or Arthur with tight lips, willing them with all her might to see her even though Gwen knows she's the only one who ever will. Sometimes Morgana doesn't look at her at all, and sometimes she does. Sometimes she looks at Gwen and her eyes say, now, right now, Gwen could be having her, naked and needy and spread out on the rug in Morgana's chambers. Or clothed and rigid in a bodice that by itself is worth more than Gwen will look upon in a lifetime, slowly coming undone between Gwen's fingers -- 

Almost.

Sometimes, it's the almost-having that lingers like the aftertaste at the end of a heady round of mead. The almost-having Morgana just the way she wants. 

The way that reminds her that she'll never have Morgana at all.


End file.
